


I'll Try Anything Once

by oneswhonever



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety Attacks, Aromantic, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Developing Relationship, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Piercings, Private School, Recreational Drug Use, Resolved Sexual Tension, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-02-22 05:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13160409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneswhonever/pseuds/oneswhonever
Summary: Mark Fischbach is Jack's antithesis in every sense of the word. He's brash and could care less about what other people think. He believes that he could be the sole key to changing Jack into something better, something that people would want to be around. Inexplicably, Jack cares a lot about what he has to say, though he doesn't care much for Mark himself - until he's introduced to Mark's scene. He finds himself wanting to explore this newfound party scene all on his own, but in the process, finds himself falling for the boy that he really can't have - for more reasons than he initially thought.





	1. Fire

Jack slammed the door shut behind him with a hearty sigh, and promptly sunk down against it, covering his face with his hands as his knees curled up to his chest. At least outside he's able to get in a breath of much needed fresh air, but he can still hear the thumping music from inside the house, which only aided in his ever-growing migraine. He knew from the moment he got up that day that going to this party was going to be a colossal mistake, yet for whatever reason, he still let Cry talk him into it. The second they walked in, Jack was promptly reminded of  _why_ he always declined attending these soirees. He wasn't one for ear-blasting music, smoke filling his lungs and getting into his nasal passages, or drunk people spilling their alcohol clear down his back. That had all happened within their first five minutes of being there. They were ten minutes into the evening now, and Jack's heart was pounding. He hadn't brought any Xanax with him, either - Cry told him that the  _second_ people spotted that vial, they would be pretty tempted to rip Jack's throat open for even  _one._

Momentarily, he debated going back inside and trying to  _buy_  some off of someone. He was fairly dependent on his medication, as he found that often they were the only surefire thing to bring him back down to earth when he felt like he was on the verge of losing it (or  _already_  losing it, which was the case here). The overstimulation was becoming too much for him to handle, and he would go home if he could. He couldn't, seeing as Cry was the one who drove them here, and Jack lost the brunette within approximately three minutes of arriving. He almost envied his best friend, as social interaction of any kind was just about second nature to him - he was likable, and got on with everybody, whereas the same could not be said for Jack.

He didn't like to consider himself unfriendly, exactly. He could get on just fine with the people he was close to. Meeting new people, however, was damn near impossible for him. He didn't like to blame his anxiety on everything, but it was very true that it was the cause for him never wanting to be around anybody. For him, it was a very debilitating disorder that sometimes made it hard for him to even want to get up for school in the morning and see his classmates. He was placed in a private school at the ripe age of twelve years old, just after the diagnosis - plucked from the public school system, and essentially being forever alienated from those he considered to be the "normal kids." Even the small size of the private school at the edge of town made him nervous, especially when people in public would spot his uniform and mock him. The Christian institute was infamous for judgmental type-A students who were wealthy as could be. Jack's family fit the wealthy description well enough, but he was actually far from judgmental - he had nothing to judge people for, given the terrifying inner mechanisms of his own mind. 

Cry was among his only friends at the school, because he had seen Jack at his absolute worst and  _still_ wanted to be his friend. Jack was prone to pushing people away, whether it was on purpose or just because of who he was as a person. It was no secret that he was a freak, after all - consistently melting down in his classes and crying in the hallways. He was a bundle of stress and nerves, and most people, unsurprisingly, didn't want to be associated with any of that. Instead of turning his head the other way, Cry was the one to help Jack when he was panicking in the library, pulling out his own hair due to the stress of their midterms. That had been when they were freshmen, and now as seniors, they were about inseparable. Everyone liked Cry about a million times more than they liked Jack, but they tolerated the green-haired boy if only because he and Cry were a team and did everything as such.

Which, in short, is why Jack never declined attending parties with his friend. Cry had a lot of connections outside of their small school, and it seemed like he was liked everywhere he went, for he was always scoring these invitations. He had said that this party was being hosted by a certain Felix Kjellberg, who has apparently been a good friend of Cry's since their playpen days. Jack had never heard the name in his life, had never heard Cry mention him even once, but that could be said for the good majority of Cry's friends. Jack wasn't good with names, so he probably wouldn't recall either which way. Cry had also mentioned that this party in particular would be on the wilder side, because Felix lacked inhibitions - not afraid to do anything, anytime. That was a quality that Jack envied, for most of the time he couldn't even make a phone call without wanting to throw up.

Felix's family must've been particularly loaded. He lived in one of the better parts of town, in a home that Jack could only describe as some sort of mini-mansion. Derived from wealth himself, he was familiar with this type of lifestyle, but the Kjellberg home lacked a certain sense of grandiose. The house was incredible, but it was certainly designed more for the purpose of entertainment than anything else, and Jack was confused as to why that sort of wealth would be funneled into the absolute nonsense that was taking place inside. Jack's family did not have the sort of wealth or lifestyle that meant wine cellars and grand chandeliers in every room, but they certainly weren't the type of family with flat screens on every wall or fully loaded bars with differing liquors, either. He could tell without even knowing the family that they must have impressive lifestyles that involved throwing parties on a regular basis. Jack couldn't even imagine having that kind of social life - his introverted parents would never, either. 

He's sitting on the patio out back that overlooks a large Olympic-sized swimming pool (he has one at his house, but nowhere _near_ the size of this one) when he hears a soft rap on the sliding glass door that he's currently leaning against. The sudden noise cut off his entire thought process and he momentarily startled, lifting his head from his hands so that he can see who it is - he's got snot dripping from his nose and his hair is a wreck due to the way he had been tugging at it, so he's sure he looked great. Standing on the other side is a boy, definitely drunk, and definitely annoyed. Jack was momentarily confused before he realized that he was probably blocking the boy's way.

He quickly scrambled to his feet, swaying and feeling more than a little unsteady. He unlatched the door with his shaking fingers and slid it open, not thinking to step out of the way. "Sorry."

His vision was still distorted from the blurriness caused by the tears, but he couldn't help but to notice just how handsome the stranger in front of him was. The majority of his hair was a fading blue color, and the other parts were a soft black - which, judging by his eyebrows, was his natural hair color. He had a beautiful, glowing tan, complimented entirely by his white v-neck. He was maybe an inch or two taller than Jack, so not necessarily a skyscraper as far as that went, but what he lacked in height was entirely made up by his very visible biceps. If he had to make an assumption based off of this stranger's appearance, Jack would say that he looked like a stereotypical asshole jock, but way better looking.

He smiled, and that threw Jack off guard. Partially because he viewed himself as an inconvenience for having been in the way, and didn't think he deserved that smile, but partially because, well, that smile was probably the best thing he had ever seen in his life. He smiled in a way that made it seem like his face might split in half. His lips were the perfect balance between pink and the rest of his skin tone, and his teeth were incredibly white. More than that, his smile was loud and unapologetic. It could light up a room, Jack was sure. 

"You're good, man," replied the stranger, his voice coming out as something equally as loud and apologetic, and _much_ deeper than Jack's. Definitely drunk. Jack stared at him for a moment before he decided that stepping aside might be a good idea, so he did just that, leaning against the wall rather than the door this time. The stranger stepped onto the patio, leaned against the railing, and withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket - the black and blue packaging matched his hair, Jack noted. He took one out for himself, before holding it out to Jack. "You want?"

"Um, I'm good, actually," Jack replied, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. If the stranger noticed his disheveled appearance, he made no remarks about it. He simply shrugged, and pulled a little black lighter out of his pocket, "Aquarius" and the symbol for the sign printed on the front. "You're an Aquarius, too?"

Before Jack could even cringe about his general lack of social skills, having decided that talking about zodiac signs was next to the lamest thing a person could do, the boy let out a short, brash laugh. "Me? No. The boy I stole this from? Probably." He placed the cigarette between his lips, lighting it expertly. Smoking was something that Jack did on occasion, and when he did, he still burnt his thumb in his attempt to light up. The boy inhaled, and blew the remnants out of his nose, not even coughing. "Smoking doesn't bother you, does it? I could go somewhere else."

"No," Jack answered, probably too quickly. He took in a deep, rattling breath, before trying again. "No, you're fine. It doesn't really bother me. I just...I'm too nervous. I'd probably choke to death if I tried right now."

Jack was bad enough at the cancer sticks as it was. He knew plenty of people, Cry included, who smoked when they were stressed or anxious. He couldn't even imagine. He knew that if he tried when he was shaking, when he couldn't get an even breath, he probably  _would_ choke to death on the smoke. He was already prone to obnoxious coughing, and could only imagine that it would be worse if he took some staggered breaths instead of the smooth ones that he had spent a long time trying to perfect - Cry tried to teach him, so that he wouldn't embarrass himself quite so much. Jack thought, bitterly, that just about everything he did was embarrassing, so these attempts at reversing his behavior were just about futile.

"Okay," was the boy's response, and lifted himself up with his hands to sit on the railing, crossing his legs at the ankles. A lot of his height was in his legs, which, exposed by shorts, were long and equally as muscular as his arms. His shoes were expensive, athletic shoes that Jack had seen his classmates wear in gym classes. The jock persona really overtook this guy, Jack thought - which made him wonder when he would start becoming the asshole part. "I've never seen you around before. You don't go to Belleview, do you?"

"Cotter," Jack replied flatly, and the boy arched an eyebrow in obvious inquisition. "You know, the private school."

"Yeah, I know the one," the boy said, and the smile returned to his face. He held the smoking cigarette between two fingers, and made a lot of hand motions when he spoke. Jack was surprised that he was stable on the railing, considering just how much he was shifting around. "I have some friends who go there, some that are here now I think."

Slowly, Jack was becoming less and less uncomfortable - for the time being, he was convincing himself that this guy probably wasn't any sort of threat, pleasantries considered. "I'll bet. The school's not as prestige as people seem to think. Plenty of bad apples that would hang around this kind of scene." Jack bit his lip, momentarily worried that his word choice might have been offensive, but the stranger maintained the smile that would put a supermodel to shame. "I mean, not that you'd have to be one, of course. I wasn't meaning to imply  _that._ "

"Of course not. I know what you mean."

Jack sighed, mostly out of relief. "I'm...this isn't normally my scene. A friend of mine wanted me to come along. I...don't necessarily fit in, if you can't tell."

"Who does?" the boy asked rhetorically, with a flip of his hand. He was ignoring his cigarette for the most part, having took only two puffs since lighting it. "Fitting in is overrated, man. I tried that shit. You have a lot more fun doing your own thing, trust me." He stared at his cigarette curiously, tapping the ashes off in between his words. "The only reason I'm here is because it's my best friend's party. Plus, free booze never hurt anybody. I don't know the names of half of the assholes in there. Quarterback on the varsity football team, yet still a reclusive, unpopular alcoholic. It's better than being fake as shit, I promise."

Jack would normally never indulge a drunk philosopher, but his curiosity continued to bloom with every word spoken - no matter how slurred they were, and how little sense he made. "People must like you."

"They respect me," the boy allowed. "They have to if they want to play for my team. That doesn't mean I'm inclined to hang out with most of them. They're all inside right now, and I'm out here smoking and talking to you. Speaks volumes, huh?"

"Not really."

"Well, it's like this: people didn't pay much attention to me until I showed that I could throw a ball. Then, everyone wanted me to try out for the team, and got jealous when I became the quarterback because I was a newbie. They didn't like  _me_ anymore, but sing my praises when I can lead 'em to a victory. Would you rather be popular and have all these fake ass friends, or do your own thing and be happy about it? I know what I chose, and I'm glad I chose it. I don't have the energy to deal with a bunch of fucks who don't care about  _me._ "

Jack sighed. "Quite the tangent just to relay that you don't fit in, either. Wish I was half as invested as you are. If I could be happy on my own, or talented, I wouldn't mind being reclusive."

"Talent has little to do with it, actually," the boy stated. Having finished his cigarette somewhere between talking and listening, he tossed what remained onto the patio, carelessly grinding it into the wood with his foot. Jack cringed. "I didn't get where I wanted to go because I woke up and decided that I was going to be great. It took a lot of dedication and drive. If my coked up, drunk ass could do it, anyone can. Sometimes when you put yourself out there, shit will just come to you, but other times you've got to work at it." He didn't miss a beat, didn't even blink an eye - Jack couldn't tell if he were an honest person, or if he was too drunk to give a damn. "The way you talk, it makes it seem like you do a whole lot of neither."

Jack rolled his eyes. "I could get hit by a bus tomorrow and my efforts would be wasted, so what's the point?"

The boy laughed. "I remember having that as my mind state, but the fact of the matter is that the downer attitude gets old real fast. And you wonder why you don't fit in."

He jumped off the railing, and passed Jack to get back inside the house, but paused in the door frame, studying Jack's face - which was wrinkled up in clear distaste. "If you want to have a good time and get over yourself for a minute, follow me. If you want to keep moping, be my guest."

Jack couldn't believe the audacity - being called out by an absolute stranger damn near made his jaw drop. Nonetheless, that didn't stop him from giving his reflection in the glass a once-over before deciding he wasn't a complete mess anymore, and following said stranger inside, closing the door behind him. Whether he wanted to actually have a good time or just show this boy that he had no idea what he was talking about was about the last thing on his mind. He was a healthy mix of annoyed and anxious as he stepped back into the catastrophe that was the living room.

"You're a real piece of work," he called over the music, and the boy craned his neck to smile at him - though it was condescending as all hell, it was still a disturbing charming smile. "You must be real proud of yourself. You know, playing drunk philosopher and then being an asshole to a crying stranger all within the span of about five minutes. I can see why people don't like  _you._ "

"There's plenty of reasons people don't like me. You've just barely grazed the surface, buddy," he smirked, pausing by a cooler to fish out two bottles of beer. Jack cringed, as he didn't care a whole lot for the taste of just plain ass beer, but he was now entirely devoted to showing this boy that there was more to him than the mopey mess that he had been displaying. There wasn't much behind his exterior, Jack knew, but he could fake it for the evening. He didn't know why he was so invested in the thoughts of a stranger, but he had some weird desire to make the boy tolerate him - they had got on just fine before their conversation had turned south, and Jack had been interested in being his friend for a hot minute. Maybe if he could display some social skills, Cry wouldn't be so embarrassed to tote him along everywhere (he vehemently denied that he was, but Jack knew better; Cry was consistently going out to dinner or movies or whatever with his friends, and it was rare that he invited Jack to join; undeniably this was because the Irishman was unpleasant to be around). "My name's Mark, by the way. So, not a stranger anymore, right?"

"Hardly," Jack stated as  _Mark_ handed him a bottle opener. Jack was well versed in this, and popped the top off the bottle in one, swift movement before handing it back. He was much more interested in toying with the bottle than he was in actually drinking its' contents.

"The polite thing to do would be to tell me your name, now."

"It's Jack," said the Irishman, voice hard. It was difficult to be pleasant to someone who was so damn condescending. "Don't you think you're drunk enough?"

"As if a beer is going to impact me any," Mark scoffed, waving his hand to get Jack to follow him. He led him away from the cooler and over to a large sectional sofa, which was already occupied by many other people, sweaty and squished in tight. Mark sat next to a small girl and her blond boyfriend, and ushered Jack to come sit next to him, patting the arm of the sofa. Jack sat, but winced - the arm was hard and dug painfully into his ass. "This is Jack. Jack, this is Felix, and Marzia." The two gave short waves, obviously too immersed in one another to give a damn about who Jack was. Jack studied the lanky blond, noting that he must be Felix Kjellberg, the host of the party. "He's said that this isn't really his scene, so I thought it wouldn't be a half bad idea to get him more...well acquainted, if you will."

"Sure," said Felix, though he didn't seem very invested. Jack was already wary of him, certain that he couldn't be terribly better than Mark. He was skinny and diamond-eyed, certainly high on  _something._ "We've got just what ya need, pal."

Wanting to prove himself to this group of strangers that Jack didn't know a damn thing about, he was willing to do a lot. If they thought they could get him to loosen up, have a good time, maybe he wasn't one to deny. 

Maybe it could be just what he needed. 


	2. Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some smut near the very end of the chapter - no sex, just a pretty poorly written hand job. Just a warning if that's not your thing!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. xx

At some point, the only thing Jack could feel was  _Stolichnaya Razberi_ burning deep in the pit of his belly. The rest of his body was turning numb, as he laid with his cheek pressed against the leather sofa in Felix's basement. The party had yet to fizzle out, but he and Mark escaped downstairs a little past one in the morning - Mark didn't smoke pot in Felix's living room; as a courtesy, he claimed. Jack had been way too drunk already to support himself, so when Mark wrapped a muscular arm around his waist and led him down, he didn't put up too much of a fight. 

"This better not be you trying to make some stupid move," Jack murmured, though his voice was mostly muffled. He was losing all of the feeling in his face - the words poured out before he could contain them. He wasn't used to getting drunk like this. Whenever he went out with Cry and there was alcohol involved, he was always the responsible drinker, the one to look out after his friend. He hadn't spotted the brunet in hours, and was inclined to believe that his friend had just disappeared entirely. "Just because I'm drunk, doesn't mean I'm just going to hook up with some asshole in some random dude's basement. Just so you know."

"I figured," said Mark, from the other side of the room. He was swaying, but definitely nowhere near as inebriated as Jack was in that moment. He was perched on top of a leather armchair, sitting on the arm rather than the seat itself. His fringe was starting to flop into his eyes, and Jack hated to admit that even when he was a drunk mess, he was still ungodly attractive. "You're not really my type, either way."

Jack rolled his eyes, before physically rolling - right off the couch and onto the floor. He got to his feet, and though he could feel himself wanting to sway, he kept his composure the best he could. He managed to pull himself up just long enough to approach the coffee table where Mark had set down their drinks, and picked up his own cup. It was some disgusting concoction of  _cheap_ vodka and peach mango juice, but the drunker Jack was, the less he could even taste it. He closed his eyes, and downed the drink smoothly enough - save for the streams that dribbled out of either side of his lips. He set his cup back down, trying his hardest not to knock it over and spill it on the rug, before wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He was acutely aware of Mark's eyes burning right through his skull. 

"You sure do stare at me enough, if that's the case," Jack commented backhandedly, but it did nothing to deter the man's gaze. Jack decided the trek back to couch wasn't worth it, and instead flopped down hard on the floor next to the table, where his drink would be within easy reach. He was only a mere few feet away from Mark. "I have to be drunk to deal with you, you know. I can feel you judging me with your eyes. Knock it off."

Mark arched an eyebrow, but his gaze went downwards this time, to stare at the glass pipe in his hands. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a  _really_ annoying drunk? Like, more annoying than normal?"

"Bite me, dickhead."

"Don't tempt me."

Jack watched as Mark took a long, slow drag on the pipe. He could hold his breath far longer than Jack could. He let it out much easier as well, not even batting an eye as he did so. The way he did everything was just so damn effortless that it almost made Jack jealous - which, in turn, made him feel stupid for thinking that some stoner guy at a party was any degree of impressive. 

For about the fifth time in the hour, Jack wondered what the hell he was doing. He didn't know why he was choosing to drink with this annoying ass stranger, who just that night had been berating him to hell and back. He didn't know why he agreed to go anywhere with him, or why he was so content to just sit there and watch him smoke marijuana. He supposed it was all the alcohol that made the boy's presence that much more tolerable. He still felt as though he had to prove something - whether it was to Mark or to himself, he wasn't quite sure. Either way, he didn't plan on making an escape anytime soon - he was too drunk to get up the stairs on his own, that much he did know, so it was pretty much out of the question regardless.

"Do they not drug test you in football?" Jack asked, though it was more to fill the air with something other than uncomfortable silence. He could still hear the thumping music from upstairs, the roar of the crowd of people, but the space between him and Mark was mostly quiet, and that just made it so much more awkward. "That shit takes awhile to leave your system."

Mark waved his hand dismissively, his eyes rolling into the back of his head (Jack was sure that, one of these times, they might just get stuck in his skull if he kept it up). "At the start of the year, sure. Reasonable suspicion otherwise."

"I'm sure nobody is suspicious of your alcoholic ass," Jack said sarcastically, and Mark just seemed amused more than anything else. He calmly set his pipe down on the end table beside him. "Your school has quite the reputation. I'm surprised they don't test every week or some shit."

"Clearly you've never played sports," Mark laughed, and for some reason, that really did it for Jack. He had the type of laugh that could level the whole damn house. Every time he heard it, he thought Mark wasn't such a bad person - which was just his undeniable attraction to the guy, of course. If Mark had anything else going for him other than his good looks, Jack wouldn't really hesitate to make an advancement, honestly. However, he really did have the personality of a jockstrap - and that was putting it nicely. "I don't know why you're conversing. You'll be too hungover in the morning to remember anything tonight."

"You've had more to drink than me," Jack said, stating the obvious. 

"Sure. I can just handle it better."

For a moment, all Jack was aware of was Mark. He was forgetting all about the party upstairs - about Cry, about all the other attendees. All he could focus on was the fact that he was here, in a room, with Mark. Completely and totally alone. Part of him knew that the alcohol was swaying all of his decision-making, but part of him was also debating launching forward and mauling Mark like a damn bear. 

However, the last thing he needed was to come onto a straight guy. Much less one who could surely snap his neck with one hand. Mark could drop him in three seconds flat, he was certain of that - he was built like a damn beanstalk, after all, which was nothing compared to that level of muscle. 

He settled on using his words instead - a feat that wouldn't have been possible if it weren't for the alcohol coursing through his system. "Are you gay?"

He wasn't certain what inspired that question in particular. In retrospect, he thought he could have been more well versed in the art of subtly. However, his drunk brain didn't think like that. He didn't want some beat around the bush answer - he wanted a real one, so that he could skip the bullshit and move right on in if applicable. 

"Am I?" Mark repeated, and Jack nodded his head. "I've never really thought about it a whole lot. I've slept with Felix."

"That girl he was with, was she not his girlfriend?" Jack questioned, almost feeling bad for forgetting her name already. Almost. 

"She is now," Mark answered simply, his eyes solely focused on Jack this time around. The way that he was looking at him in that moment was somehow different - at least, that's how Jack's drunk brain perceived it. "Not back then. It was like, three years ago. You know, confused freshmen who want to find that shit out. We had each other, so yeah. Felix is...not gay. He likes women. I don't know. I don't really like anybody."

"Sex?"

"What about sex?"

"I mean...are you sexually attracted to people?"

"Well, sometimes. It really does depend."

Jack leaned forward, unsteadily resting his chin on top of his fists, elbows digging hard into the plush rug beneath him. "Okay, so how does that work, then? What does it depend on?"

"Shit, man, I don't know," Mark sighed, and shifted down so he was actually sitting on the chair, rather than the armrest. Still, the two never broke eye contact. "I guess it's like...I can't feel that sort of connection for someone. I've never been able to." He suddenly cocked an accusatory eyebrow. "Why so interested, anyway?"

That was a good question. Jack's alcohol-ridden system couldn't comprehend why he was currently feeling the way that he was. It was probably, he supposed, the lack of sex, mixing with the fact that his judgement was completely impaired at the moment. Rather than answer, he opted to reach on top of the table to grab his drink. The drunker he got, the less he could even taste it - he could be just drinking plain water and he wouldn't be able to tell the difference. It was also getting a lot harder to swallow, being that his cheeks were totally numb. 

After swallowing, he addressed the question - this time, avoiding looking at Mark, and instead staring into his drink, like that's where he found find all of his answers. "I couldn't tell ya, really. You're weird. I just wanna pick your brain."

"I wouldn't be calling _me_ weird right now," Mark mused quietly. There was a brief moment of silence, wherein Jack couldn't find the words to string together a coherent sentence to save his life. He didn't have hardly enough time to think about it, either, before Mark beat him to the punch. "What about you, then? I think if you're gonna ask me something like that, I should know about you as well. You know. Sex stuff."

Jack had to ponder for a moment, picking out his words as carefully as he could - though he was certain he would end up having verbal diarrhea either way, thanks to the vodka. "I don't think I've ever really thought about it, either. I mentioned that I don't fit in well, and a lot of that...I mean, I've never had an opportunity to try out anything, you know? So I guess I've not done anything."

Another silence, before Mark dared to ask, "What  _would_ you do?" 

Jack wished he could find his previous attitude. He wished he could find the confidence (or the stability) to get up and walk out of the room before he ended up doing something that he would regret. The fact of the matter, however, was that the alcohol was heavily influencing what he  _actually_ wanted to do. Logically, he knew that hooking up with some asshole at a party would be about the biggest mistake he could ever make. Physically, however, he was having to prevent from lunging. Logic definitely wasn't going to help him in this situation. At the moment, he was okay with that. 

"...I would do a lot."

"Come here."

Unsteadily, Jack got to his feet, nearly knocking his drink over on the carpet in the process. He advanced over to Mark, hips swaying, and stopped less than a foot away from the chair. When he was just close enough to touch, Mark leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the smaller man's waist and pulling him down, so that Jack was now mostly sitting in his lap, his legs swung carefully over the side. 

"Thought you weren't gonna hook up with a random just because you were drunk?" Mark whispered, so close to Jack's face that the Irishman could practically  _taste_ the Stoli on his breath. He shuddered, and leaned forward just enough for their noses to touch, lips merely centimeters apart. "I've gotta say, I really prefer  _this_ side of you."

Jack didn't know that this side of him even existed, but he was inclined to agree - especially when Mark finally attached their lips. Jack could practically  _feel_ the electric shock course up and down his spine, making his head spin. As soon as their lips had touched, he had to wonder how he had gone so long without this feeling. He had kissed a handful of people in his life - none quite this intimately, none anywhere near as good. He liked what the alcohol did for him, and the confidence it instilled in him. He knew that, if he were sober, he would be panicking and running for the hills. 

He had nowhere to run, now. Instead, he settled in and made himself comfortable. He placed one hand on Mark's shoulder, and opted for placing the other at the base of his neck, just high enough to that it was settled near a tuft of soft hair. He couldn't believe that he had felt negatively towards this man that was able to make him feel such incredible things in  _one_ kiss. He was in immediate need of  _more._ He had to wonder if it would feel this good sober, and he doubted it.

Mark pulled back after a brief moment, but just a slight. His eyes were heavily lidded as he looked into Jack's diamond eyes. "I don't want to make this messy. I've fucked people drunk before and dealt with some gnarly consequences. I don't wanna do anything like that right now. Believe me, I can make you feel wicked good in other ways, if you want that."

And who would Jack be to deny? He carded a hand through Mark's hair gently as he managed a weak nod of the head, not finding his voice. Apparently, that was quite enough - enough for the taller boy to slip a hand downwards, giving Jack's cock a gentle squeeze through his jeans. The Irishmen yelped softly, but composed himself long enough to reach down himself, unbuckling his belt and undoing his fly himself, pulling down his pants and boxers just enough to let his erection spring free. He hadn't realized how hard he actually was before he had himself from his jeans. 

"Eager, much?" Mark murmured, breath hot on Jack's lips. Jack nodded his head softly, though he was sure it was a given. "Jesus. People would get on with you so much more if you let  _this_ side out. You're so fucking hot when you're desperate."

And desperate Jack was. So desperate, in fact, that Mark wrapping a hand around the base of his cock was enough to make him moan. He wasn't sure how versed Mark was in sex, much less gay sex, but everything about the situation was a total turn on. He wasn't sure exactly how much of that was the alcohol - being that this was his first time doing anything quite so explicit, much less doing it drunk. 

Mark's movements were expert. It seemed like he did everything with clear intention - from the way he stroked Jack's length, to the way he teased the head of his cock just enough. Jack's experience didn't extend beyond anything more than masturbation, but this was a whole new feeling. Now that he had it, he didn't want to lose it. He didn't know if it always felt this good, or if it was the alcohol, or if it was Mark - perhaps a combination of the two. Whatever it was, the short-lived handjob was pure ecstasy, and he would live in the feeling forever, if he could.

But in reality, it didn't take long for his stomach to coat with an intense warmth, and from then, he was cumming. He had read somewhere, once when he had smuggled a bottle of Fireball from his parents's liquor cabinet, that alcohol was known to enhance orgasms. He had proven this theory on that night, and it was definitely proven again in this instance, as he coated the front of Mark's shirt with streaks of cum, eyes rolling hard to the back of his head. His nails dug in hard into the other boy's shoulder as he rode out his orgasm, opting to bury his face into Mark's chest, which the brunet allowed. 

"God, Jack," Mark murmured, his arms wrapping around Jack tightly as he pulled him close, his own face burying into the nape of Jack's neck - laying down a kiss and digging his teeth in while he was there. Jack's eyes closed as he simply let himself enjoy. He was also enjoying the feeling of not at all minding what was happening at the moment. It was a welcome change to not be freaking out over the simplest human interaction. "You can be pretty damn good when you want to be, you know."

With just that sentence, Jack felt that he could stay this way for the rest of his life. Again, he wondered how he had gone his entire life without this feeling. Without Mark to show him just how good  _letting go_ could be. 

Maybe he had to  _let go_ more often. 


End file.
